


The Legacy

by DanyKinkFic



Series: Breaker of Chains [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Femdom, Kink Meme, Multi, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, Porn With Plot, Sibling Incest, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 22:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20053786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyKinkFic/pseuds/DanyKinkFic
Summary: Change comes rapidly to Westeros after its conquest and salvation. The old order struggles against the new, and lust struggles against taboo and strife.Porn with plot.





	The Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third and final installment in my Breaker of Chains series. If you haven't read the first two, I strongly suggest you do so before reading this one. Not as dark as some of my other works, but the tags are still there for a reason. As usual, there will be a lot of femdom porn in here.
> 
> Also, this series was conceived between Seasons 6 and 7 of the show, so it diverges from post-Season 6 canon. Mixes book and show elements where convenient.

Irri straightened the dragon and stallion pin on Aemon’s doublet as the handmaidens dressed him for court. _ You’re my son, and you’re about to sit the Iron Throne in my stead for the first time. You cannot afford to look like a drunkard. _

The Crown Prince sighed and swatted at his mother’s hand. “Let the handmaidens do their job, Mother.”

_ I am a handmaiden, _ Irri retorted silently, ignoring her son. She’d worn a crown for more than twenty years, but would never lose the urge to straighten a pin or pick lint off a doublet.

“Don’t be afraid to consult Lady Missandei,” she warned him in her soft, accented voice. “There is no shame in asking for advice. That’s why she’s there.”

“I know, Mother,” he replied petulantly. _ He’s his father’s son. _

“And if anything they say rings false, most like it is.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You want me to stop talking, don’t you?”

Aemon smiled, caught.

“Well, you’ll have to wait. This is important.” Aemon was wise for a man of twenty, but in Irri’s experience, men of twenty were only slightly wiser than an especially clever monkey. _At least he’s comelier than a monkey._ [Aemon](https://imgur.com/a/ZF4Hkdz) had grown into an objectively beautiful man, with his father’s smile and his mother’s dark eyes. His skin was lighter than hers but darker than Jon’s, and made him look Dornish. He wasn’t the tallest man alive, but well-built nonetheless, with short black hair and a well-trimmed beard. For his safety, Irri wished he looked a bit more like a milk man, but the gods did what they did.

She gave him more advice on how to say many words without saying anything, how to put a man in his place, and how to pretend to know what someone is talking about when you haven’t the slightest notion. When the handmaidens were finally finished and Aemon was properly dressed, Irri kissed him on the cheek, bid him good luck, and straightened his pin one last time.

With her son off ruling and her Hand protecting him from himself, Irri made her way to chambers, where Lord Tyrion and Grand Maester Sam awaited. They rose when she entered, and sat when she did.

She got straight to the point. “How are deposits?”

“Up,” Tyrion replied. _ The shortest and best answer. _

Founded at Tyrion’s behest and modeled on the Iron Bank of Braavos before Daenerys destroyed it, the Royal Bank of Westeros had changed her Seven Kingdoms beyond anything Jon or Daenerys would recognize. _ That feels like an entirely different life. _ Lords and ladies still ruled Westeros in name, but the Royal Bank and the Royal Army had concentrated power so thoroughly in King’s Landing that they were little more than relics. A merchant class had risen, and together held more sway over the Queen than anyone who happened to have an ancient name. _ Unless your ancient name is Sansa Stark. _ King’s Landing had become the center of trade in the known world, shaming cities like Meereen and Pentos. Ships packed Blackwater Bay so densely that some had to wait days before they could dock and unload their goods. The city had expanded well beyond its walls, nearly to the horizon in every direction. There had been talk of building new walls, but twelve years after Irri’s Royal Army made short work of a rebellion in the wake of Jon’s death, the notion of war was so absurd that protecting against a siege seemed pointless.

In truth, Irri had never come to fully understand what precisely the bank did. All she knew was that it contained an unfathomable sum of gold and many pieces of parchment with many names and numbers written on them, that through some alchemy had made her easily the most powerful woman alive. Irri found that twistedly funny. She had never sought that position, still felt she had no business being there, and often wished she hadn’t fallen ass-backward into it. But for the sake of her children, she would die before giving it up.

After about an hour of pretending to follow Tyrion through the details of how the bank was doing, and another hour listening to Sam prattle on about libraries and granaries, Irri felt her concentration waning. _ Missandei should be here. I will never remember all of this. _

As if she’d been summoned, Missandei burst through the door with a worried look on her face. _ Oh, gods, what did Aemon do? _ “Your Grace, there’s something very important you need to see.”

“Where is my son?” The whereabouts of her children were always her first question anytime someone burst through a door with a worried look.

“He’s in a field, Your Grace. Just outside the city, with Ser Daemon Sand.”

_ Dead? A hostage? _ “I thought he was holding court!” _ And I thought you were keeping him there. _

“He was, but--you’ll see. Please, Your Grace. I wouldn’t do this if I thought it unworthy of your time.”

“Very well,” Irri replied, still nervous and confused. "Take me there.”

Already dressed to ride, as a _ Khaleesi _ always should be, Irri had a horse readied. Flanked by her guards, she followed Missandei to this very important field, far more than ‘just’ outside the city. Aemon awaited her with Ser Daemon, who bowed respectfully as she dismounted. The knight was about ten years older than her, and not at all unpleasant to look at; tall, dark of skin but blue-eyed, strong-jawed, with salt and pepper hair and a closely trimmed beard. Irri had never met him before but had heard plenty of gossip about his time as a squire for Prince Oberyn Martell.

Normally unable to resist sussing out the truth of good gossip, she restrained herself and got straight to the point. “Why am I here, Ser Daemon?”

The knight sensed her impatience. “Before Prince Oberyn died,” _ decades ago, _ Irri wanted to clarify, “he conducted certain experiments with substances he’d acquired during his travels in Essos. I’ve completed his work.”

_ Tell me you didn’t drag me here to show me a potion that makes your cock hard. _ But as she looked around, she wagered against it. In the field stood two rows of five Royal Army soldiers, each holding what looked like a short spear, and with some sort of handle at the base. On either side of them were two more soldiers, standing behind an elongated iron barrel propped up on wheels. Next to each of the barrels was a pile of iron balls about the size of a baby’s head. Across the field, on the horizon, stood a loosely organized band of about fifty men she couldn’t make out. 

“Who are they?” Irri asked, pointing across the field.

“Convicts from the black cells, Your Grace,” Ser Daemon replied. “All condemned to death.” _ Has he lost his wits? _ Ser Daemon took a stick and dropped it in the dirt a few feet in front of the soldiers. “I promised them freedom if they make it past this line.”

“And who gave you leave to do that?!” Irri shot daggers at a sheepish Aemon. _ I let you sit the Throne for two hours and this is what you do?! _

Ser Daemon smiled. “It doesn’t matter.”

Irri wanted to put the man in chains right there. _ Let him make a fool of himself first. _ To put a man in chains too early was a sign of madness. _ Or worse, weakness. _

At Ser Daemon’s signal, one of the soldiers put a war horn to his lips and blew. The knight took a step back and Irri followed suit, uncertain what else to do. Across the field, the prisoners began to charge toward the line of soldiers, who all stood perfectly still. _ What are they doing? And why am I standing here like a fool? _ Irri motioned for her Queensguard to move closer.

“Cover your ears, Mother,” Aemon warned as the prisoners got closer. The soldiers were loading the balls into the front end of each of the large barrels.

_ Is this some game? _ Irri froze, marveling at the madness. Suddenly, everyone but her and her Queensguard had their ears covered. _ What do they know that I don’t? _ Uninterested in finding out, she covered her ears.

As it turned out, she was just in time. A deafening _ BOOM _ came from one of the barrels, followed in rapid succession by the same from the other, almost knocking her onto her ass.

Irri looked back across the field. Through a haze of smoke, she saw a pile of mangled corpses, and about ten men running desperately toward her where there used to be fifty.

The first row of soldiers all took a knee, and both rows put the butts of their spears to their shoulders. Irri had a feeling of what would happen next. As the prisoners charged closer, each of the soldiers in unison produced another deafening sound; this one sounding more like a tree cracking after being struck by lightning.

Where there had been ten prisoners, there were now only nine corpses and one solitary man, still charging and screaming, his face white as a ghost. _ He’s charging because he has no choice. _ One of the soldiers in the front row stood, charged forward, and jammed the tip of his “spear” in the man’s gut, right as he was about to reach Ser Daemon’s stick.

_ Oh, _ was Irri’s only thought as the dust settled and the smoke blew away. She thought she saw a flash of Daenerys’s likeness in the smoke, but shook it out of her mind as quickly as she could. _ She would have loved this, _ and that was precisely the problem. _ No. This Realm has been through enough madness. _

Irri turned to her Queensguard and pointed to Ser Daemon. “Put him in chains.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, you'll get your smut!


End file.
